


Shore Leave

by wheel_pen



Series: Viridian Mal [42]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fish out of Water, Imprinting, Naughtiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-08 21:24:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trip makes a new friend while on shore leave. Trip should probably drink less on shore leave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shore Leave

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Viridians appear human, but are actually aliens who imprint on other people (Viridian or otherwise) and form a bond with them. They also live their entire life cycle in about six Earth years.
> 
> 2\. In each series, a different character is a Viridian, who was raised by mean Klingons on an outpost. An Enterprise crewmember is captured by the Klingons and they inadvertently form a bond with the Viridian, who helps them escape. Then they return to rescue the Viridian and bring them aboard the Enterprise. The Viridian homeworld is contacted and the Enterprise crew learn the Viridian will most likely die if they are sent away. So they end up staying on the Enterprise, and the crewmember has to adjust.
> 
> 3\. The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.

            "I'm not doing it, Commander," Hoshi repeated testily.

            "I could order you to," Trip reminded her.

            She narrowed her eyes at him. "The Captain would never uphold that order," she pointed out sensibly. "And if he even _heard_ about it," she added threateningly, "he would probably cancel your shore leave altogether."

            "Oh, come on, Hoshi!" Trip whined. They both smiled and nodded casually at a crewman at the next table who gave them an odd glance, then turned back furtively to their conversation.

            "Mal is _your_ responsibility," Hoshi hissed. "I am _not_ going to spend my shore leave babysitting him!"

            "But you _like_ Mal," Trip pleaded. "You can put up with him! Hardly anyone can do that," he grumbled.

            "I _do_ like Mal," Hoshi agreed. "But I already have things planned for shore leave, things that do _not_ include someone who is going to be pining for _you_ all the time!" Trip sat back in his chair and pouted. Trip could pout with the best of them. But Hoshi had to hold firm. "What is it you're planning to do, anyway, that he can't tag along?"

            Trip hunched back over his half-eaten lunch, dropping his voice discreetly. "Marcus and I are gonna, you know... take in the sights." He gave her a significant look. Hoshi shook her head, uncomprehending. "You know... we're going to engage in _cultural exchange_. You know."

            "You want to _get laid_?!" Hoshi demanded, appalled. Trip looked around quickly, face reddening—the same crewman was staring at them again. "You want to dump Mal on someone for two days just for _that_?"

            "Hey, _that_ is not nothing, Hoshi," Trip insisted. "We've been out here eight months without a break. Eight _long_ months. Eight _very, very long_ months. I just wanna spend two days doin' a little dancin', a little drinkin', a little..."

            "Cultural exchanging?" Hoshi guessed acidly.

            "Hey, don't get so high and mighty," Trip shot back. "You were the only one of the senior staff to get any on Risa, after all."

            Hoshi drew back, eyes wide, then leaned forward again and demanded in a hushed voice, "How do you know about that?!"

            "It's a small ship," Trip reminded her smugly. "People talk."

            "Yeah, well—how do you know your attempt at 'cultural exchange' won't end as _badly_ as it did on Risa, huh?" Hoshi retorted.

            Trip frowned at her. "What are you talking about?" he asked suspiciously.

            "Unless your _goal_ was to be tied up in a basement in your underwear with Marcus," she needled meanly.

            Trip glowered at her, not bothering to ask how she had acquired _her_ intel. He crossed his arms over his chest defiantly. " _I need this_ ," he tried determinedly. "You want the warp core explodin' because I'm wound too tight?"

            "I am not having this conversation," Hoshi decided, starting to pack up her lunch tray. There were just _some_ images she didn't need implanted in her brain.

            "Well, hang on, hang on," Trip said, pulling her back. "If you're not gonna take Mal, you got any ideas what I can do with him?"

            "You can't just leave him on the ship?" Hoshi asked. "Mean and cruel of you as that would be," she added witheringly.

            Trip glared at her. "I already promised him he could go to the planet," he admitted. She started to roll her eyes. "Look, I'm getting him used to the idea that we aren't going to be together the whole time." Trip sighed. "I just need somewhere to stick him where he's going to have fun and be supervised."

            "'Stick him'?" Hoshi repeated derisively. "How responsible of you."

            "Do you have any ideas or not?" Trip prompted impatiently.

            Hoshi thought a moment, more for Mal's sake than Trip's. "Doesn't the hotel have a nice spa?" she asked.

            "I don't know," Trip shrugged, as if it were beyond his capacity to be aware of such things.

            "I think they do," Hoshi mused. "I read about it in the brochure. Why don't you see if you can get him some kind of all-day pass? He would probably love being pampered." Hope dawned on Trip's face for the first time. "They might even have some kind of overnight special—"

            "Hoshi, you are a genius!" Trip declared, kissing her soundly on the cheek. After which he dashed off to look into the hotel's spa package. Hoshi just shook her head, then smiled wanly at the crewman whose meal had been interrupted for the third time by his eccentric senior officers.

 

            Trip was feeling really good. Really, really good. The kind of good that could only be artificially induced. He'd forgotten how many strange and exotic beverages he'd had at the bar by now—at first he was interested in tasting them, comparing their flavors to Earth-based alcohols, but after a while it seemed more important to keep a full glass of _something_ on the table in front of him, especially as the glasses seemed to keep mysteriously emptying themselves.

            He could still walk straight, though. That was important, because it just wouldn't do to stumble onto the lady you were hoping to escort back to your hotel room. Might make her think you weren't capable of exercising good judgment in focusing on her. Although Trip had to admit there seemed to be a _lot_ more good-lookin' gals in this bar now than there were before, before he'd started drinking. Funny how that worked.

            This 'Plush-bucket' seemed pretty amiable though, Trip judged, feeling confident in his decision-making abilities. She even laughed pleasantly at his attempts to pronounce her name. Her skin was a lovely shade of light green, her hair and eyes dark and silky and moist—er, her hair was silky, her eyes were moist—and she had a tongue like, well, Trip just wasn't going to go there... in public anyway. His only complaint was that she wasn't wearing a short skirt—Trip had always been a leg man himself, but, uh, P-B's culture seemed to have a bit of modesty surrounding the whole lower half, judging by her long dress. That was okay by him, though; he knew she wasn't shy, not with all the places she'd been putting her hands. And d—n, those hands sure seemed to reach everywhere pretty quick—but he'd counted, and there were only two. Maybe he'd had more to drink than he thought.

            "My hotel's just around the block," he whispered in her ear. "If you'd like to come over and... get better acquainted."

            "I think I'd like that... Trip," she replied, with a little giggle. She always giggled when she said his name, for some reason.

            "Well come on then," he grinned at her, standing and taking her hand. "Time's a-wastin'."

            They headed for the door, Trip making a last effort to locate Marcus. Finally he spotted him on the other side of the bar, chatting up a... an alien. Not bad looking, but Trip couldn't tell if it was male or female. Might be a little bit of both, he supposed, given his own experience earlier in the evening. Apparently Marcus had a better pick-up line than, "So, you're a hermaphrodite. Maybe you just haven't met the right man or woman yet." Strange, it had worked before…

            Trip, ever cool and composed, exercised subtlety in signaling Marcus—catching his eye by waving wildly, then pointing to the woman on his arm with a big grin and a thumbs up. Punctuated by gesturing towards the exit, in case Marcus didn't get it. Well, Trip wasn't too sure about Marcus's comprehension skills, since the security officer's eyes got huge and he started gesturing towards Trip's feet confusingly. "What?" Trip shouted to him, the word completely lost in the din of the bar. Maybe the poor guy had just had too much to drink, Trip decided, waving him off.

            "Just sayin' good-bye to my buddy," he explained off-hand to P-B.

            "I guess I should tell you," she said as they exited onto the marginally quieter street, "you'll be my first alien!"

            "Hey, that's what Starfleet's all about!" Trip assured her grandly. "Boldly goin' where no human's gone before. Zefram Cochrane would be proud." Of the amount of liquor Trip had consumed, anyway.

            "Who?" P-B asked pleasantly. She was really very pleasant, overall.

            "Never mind," Trip told her. Then he gave her a stern look. "Just don't go around tellin' your pals that Earth boys are easy," he warned, then grinned when it looked like she might take him seriously.

            "As long as _you_ don't tell _your_ friends that Mrst'Kjls'Ncvk girls are easy!" she countered with a laugh.

            Trip's grin widened. "Oh, I _definitely_ won't be tellin' people that," he promised sincerely. Even sober he didn't think he could repeat that word to anyone.

 

            Mal keyed the entry code to the hotel room he was sharing with Trip, practically humming with joy at being back in his presence again. Of course, the night spent in the spa's exclusive anti-gravity chamber and the sea salt scrub he'd had at sunrise had been quite lovely; and after a late night out Trip was bound to be cranky and more than a little smelly. But that hardly mattered, because Trip was Trip, after all, and what was an entire spa full of treatments compared to him?

            It was early enough that Trip probably wouldn't be up were he still on _Enterprise_ (unless of course he'd never been to bed at all), so Mal slipped in as quietly as he could, which meant he was nearly silent when he stole into the bedroom. He smiled fondly when he saw Trip: facedown in bed, hair tousled and sticking straight up in places, and very clearly not wearing any clothing. Even in his sleep Mal had realized that a _certain someone_ was having a very good time in the night; but should the connection between them not exist, it wouldn't be difficult to guess what Trip had been up, not with the clothing scattered haphazardly around the bedroom and the blankets half on the floor. Shaking his head, Mal started to do his duty and clean up—beginning with a Starfleet-issue undershirt draped artistically over a lampshade and an odd sort of leather bag under the end table.

            A moan from the bed drew Mal's attention and he walked over, still smiling patiently and clutching the mysterious bag-like object. A mild analgesic from the supply Phlox had provided them, something light for breakfast, _definitely_ a shower... Mal knew exactly what Trip was going to need. He crouched down by the side of the bed, eye-level with Trip when the engineer started to very slowly crack his eyes open. "Mal?" he croaked, disoriented.

            "Poor Trip," Mal replied sympathetically. "Don't worry, I'll take good care—" The hand he had started to run through Trip's hair came away... sticky. Slimy, really, with strands of... something... stringing from Mal's palm back to Trip's hair. Mal raised his eyebrows in bemusement, his natural reaction of disgust balanced by concern for Trip.

            "What the h—l," groaned Trip, not necessarily in regards to anything in particular except the general state of unwellness he felt. Way, _way_ too much to drink last night, his fuzzy mind surmised. He tried, creakily, to push himself up in bed. Mal assisted him, noting a similar level of stickiness over all the skin he touched. There were also strange marks all over his back and chest, most vaguely circular, like small bruises.

            "Are you quite alright?" Mal asked, not sure Trip was even cogent enough to answer.

            "I—um—wha—" Trip managed, sounding like his mouth was full of paste. He swallowed, grimaced, shook his head, decided to never do _that_ again, and finally let his mouth hang open for several seconds before he remembered what he wanted to convey. "Weird dreams," Trip mumbled, putting his hand to his head as if that would block the images from running through his mind again. "Dreamed she was a—"

            The door to the bathroom slid open. "Good morning! Oh, hello there."

            Mal knew enough about human standards of beauty to realize that the woman gliding over to them would be considered a 'looker' according to many, including Trip. If her jet-black eyes were a little larger than the human norm, her nose a little flatter, her mouth a little wider, they certainly didn't detract from her overall appeal. Even the pale green cast to her skin was exotic and alluring, contrasting nicely with her long, inky hair.

            If there was just _one_ thing about her that drew the eye immediately, though, Mal would have to say it was the tentacles.

            "You found my shoe! I was looking all over for that." The woman's hands were involved in winding up her long hair and tucking it into a manageable knot, so it was a fleshy, pale green tentacle that left the bunch trailing from beneath her skirt and reached for the leather bag Mal held. He gave it up easily. Fascinatingly coordinated, two shorter tentacles gripped the bag with the aid of circular suction cups sprinkled liberally across their undersides. Mal noted they were about the same size as the marks on Trip's skin. A longer tentacle, er, stepped into the bag, leaving it clad similarly to four others. The shorter tentacles then pulled the drawstring of the bag tight, sheathing the tip of the limb. Apparently the tentacles were stronger than they at first appeared, since she was able to use them as legs. Mal could see how she might appeal to an engineer, structurally speaking.

            "I'm Plsh'Bkt, by the way," the woman continued pleasantly, looking expectantly between Mal and Trip.

            "This is—um—" Trip blinked several times. Things were not quite registering with him yet. "Mal, what's your name again?" he finally asked.

            "Mal," the other man reminded him helpfully.

            "My friend," Trip added, by way of not-really-explanation.

            "Pleased to meet you," Plsh'Bkt greeted, holding out a shorter tentacle. Mal clasped the tip of it briefly, his hand coming away with a familiar stickiness, slightly more moist for its freshness. "Well, I've got to go and meet my crewmates," she continued cheerfully. She turned to Trip, a couple of tentacles curling over his face and shoulders in an affectionate manner. The suction cups popped gently against his skin with a soft wet sound. "Thanks for being my first alien, Trip," she cooed flirtatiously.

            "No problem," Trip assured her, still sounding a little shell-shocked. "Happy to..." The end of the sentence, if there was one, was lost in the mists of his mind.

            "See you around the galaxy." With that, Plsh'Bkt glided out of the room—with five 'feet' on the ground, she moved with a smooth, rolling gait, her... hips... automatically swaying in an inviting manner.

            Mal scurried to the bedroom doorway after her, verifying that she had indeed left the suite. Then he turned back to Trip. For a long moment the two men just stared at each other, words being inadequate to comment accurately on the situation. Finally Trip leveraged himself out of bed, leaning heavily on the nearby wall. "I'm going to take a shower," he decided flatly, stumbling towards the bathroom.

            Mal nodded his approval. "I'm going to call Housekeeping to change the bed," he judged. "As soon as I wash my hands," he added, suppressing a shudder as he pressed his sticky fingers together experimentally.

 

            "Oh, good choice," Jon commented pleasantly. "I was thinking of getting that myself."

            Trip turned away from his conversation with Travis and looked down at the meal Mal had ordered for him expectantly. And stopped to stare.

            Across the table Marcus's eyes widened. Then a grin stole onto his face. Then his hand snuck up to cover the grin, which was rapidly growing to painful proportions. Especially when he saw Trip's expression.

            Trip turned his slightly horrified gaze on Mal, who merely blinked blandly at him then focused on his own meal.

            "What's the matter, Trip?" Jon asked with some concern. "Aren't you in the mood for squid tonight?"

            Beside Jon Marcus started convulsing with silent laughter, both hands clapped over his mouth, body hunched over the table trying to contain himself. Trip's expression was changing from horrified to... mortified.

            Jon looked from Marcus to Trip in confusion. Mal pecked away at his plate and appeared to be of no assistance in explaining anything. Hoshi and Travis both shook their heads, equally mystified, when Jon gave them a questioning gaze. "I'm missing something," he surmised.

           Trip rubbed his hand over his eyes, carefully pushing his plate of whole calamari more towards the center of the table. His face was beet red.

           "You don't want it?" Jon prompted, beginning to feel a little silly as the only one talking. "I thought you loved squid."

           "More than you know," Mal intoned, and Marcus lost it completely, howling with laughter, tears running down his cheeks. Trip dropped his head on the table, hands sliding through his hair in a gesture at once frustrated and protective.

           "I didn't know she had tentacles, okay?!" Trip finally protested, looking up. "She was wearin' a long dress, I didn't see 'em until... later..."

           Now Travis was beginning to catch on and started chuckling. Hoshi was beginning to catch on and started frowning. And Jon was beginning to catch on and started looking somewhere in between appalled and mildly impressed. "Trip..." he said in a warning tone. _What have you done now?_ was clearly the rest of the sentence.

           "She was really a very nice... uh... person," Trip insisted, eyes fixed firmly on the tabletop.

           Travis felt a little sorry for him at this point. "Did you get her name?" he asked pleasantly.

           "Or her species?" Hoshi questioned a bit icily.

           "I can't pronounce it," Trip admitted, his voice muffled slightly as he had buried his face in his hands completely.

           "Which one?"

           " _Either!_ "

           "I believe her name was pronounced... _Plush-bucket_ ," Mal informed them. Marcus, who was just beginning to calm down, started off on a fresh round of uncontrollable giggles.

           Jon felt the corners of his mouth starting to quirk up and forced himself to remain straight-faced, if only to help his friend out a little bit. "Um... maybe you'd better see Dr. Phlox when you get back to the ship," he murmured discreetly.

           Mal nudged part of the entree with Trip's fork. "At least she didn't have a beak," he pointed out dryly.

 

_Meanwhile, in a restaurant on the other side of town..._

           "Oh, good choice," Captain Mrss'Ktk commented pleasantly. "I was thinking of getting that myself."

           Plsh'Bkt turned away from her conversation with another shipmate and looked down at her plate expectantly. And stopped to stare.

            Across the table her friend and co-barhopper Lvr'Brn's eyes widened, then a grin stole onto her face. Then her hand snuck up to cover the grin, which was rapidly growing to painful proportions. Especially when she saw Plsh'Bkt's expression.

            Plsh'Bkt turned her slightly horrified gaze on her shore leave roommate Trn'Gvn, whom she had allowed—foolishly, she now saw—to order for her. Trn'Gvn merely smiled innocently.

            "What's the matter, Plsh'Bkt?" Mrss'Ktk asked with some concern. "Aren't you in the mood for _yjk'dtn_ tonight?"

            Beside Mrss'Ktk, Lvr'Brn started convulsing with silent laughter, both hands clapped over her mouth. Her tentacles squished wetly as they twined around the pedestal of the bowl-shaped chair she sat in, trying to keep her body still. Plsh'Bkt's expression was changing from horrified to... mortified.

            Mrss'Ktk looked from one to the other in confusion, with Trn'Gvn only giving her the same bland smile. The other members of the dinner party seemed equally mystified. "I'm missing something," she surmised.

           Plsh'Bkt rubbed her hand over her eyes, carefully pushing her plate more towards the center of the table. It contained a local delicacy, a kind of small primate with a cylindrical body and four fleshy limbs, roasted and seasoned.

           "I thought you loved _yjk'dtn_ ," Mrss'Ktk commented, beginning to feel a little silly as the only one talking.

           "More than you know," Trn'Gvn intoned, and Lvr'Brn lost it completely. She howled with laughter, her tentacles flailing, the small suction cups on them popping and unpopping. Plsh'Bkt dropped her head on the table, hands and several tentacles sliding through her hair in a gesture at once frustrated and protective.

           "He was really a very nice... uh... person," she insisted. "Even if he _didn't_ have tentacles..."

           The rest of the table was starting to catch on and laugh along with Lvr'Brn. "Plsh'Bkt," her captain said in a warning tone. _What have you done now?_ was clearly the rest of the sentence.

           "Didn't you say his name was pronounced... _Trp_?" Trn'Gvn asked playfully, setting the gigglers off on a fresh round of snickering and popping.

           Mrss'Ktk felt the corners of her mouth starting to quirk up and forced herself to remain straight-faced, if only to help her friend out a little bit. "Um... maybe you'd better see Dr. Plw'Rdf when you get back to the ship," she murmured discreetly.

           Trn'Gvn nudged part of the entree with Plsh'Bkt's fork. "At least he didn't have a tail," she pointed out dryly.

 

           Trip hadn't said much on the way back from the restaurant and stood quietly in the hall of the hotel while Mal keyed the door open. Eventually he had gotten into spirit of Mal's little dinnertime prank—it wasn't like his shipmates had never seen him in an embarrassing situation before, after all. It wasn't nearly as bad as getting... impregnated... by an alien female... Trip gulped a little and made a mental note to _definitely_ check in with Phlox as soon as he got back to the ship.

           "So..." Trip began when they were finally back in the room. He gave Mal a wry half-smile. "That was a little bit of punishment, wasn't it?"

           Mal gave him a look that might as well have said, _Yeah. So?_ "Well I don't know what you're upset about," Trip continued, throwing himself into an overstuffed chair with a sigh. He was really more curious than anything at this point. "You got to go to the spa. You liked that, didn't you?"

           "It was wonderful," Mal assured him, kneeling at his feet. He leaned his head against Trip's knee and began petting his leg. Trip absently threaded his fingers through the other man's dark hair. "I had a full-body massage performed by two attendants... who each had four hands. And with volcanic hot stones to release tension and allow my positive energy to flow freely." Trip smiled a little. "And they covered me with this lovely-smelling sort of butter and wrapped me in seaweed and hot towels. And I soaked in a tub of water filled with healing minerals and flower petals. And," he added emphatically, "they fed me _all the fruit I wanted._ " He let out a happy sigh at the memory. Then he turned an earnest gaze up at Trip. "But I would rather have been with you."

           "You'd rather be sittin' with me in a smoky bar filled with loud, drunk aliens than bathe in flower petals and be fed fruit?" Trip asked him with a smirk.

           "Yes," Mal told him sincerely. "Although it would be _nicer_ if you were sitting in the other tub next to me," he suggested hopefully.

           Trip just shook his head. "Mal, you can't be with me _all_ the time," he tried to explain. "I mean, come on—you would've _hated_ this place Marcus and I were in. And even if you _had_ been with us, what would you have done when me and... um..."

           " _Plush-bucket_ ," Mal supplied helpfully.

           "...um, yeah," Trip agreed. "When we were comin' back to the room to get, um, better acquainted? Where would you have gone, huh?"

           "Oh, I could have gone in the other room, or stayed out in the hall," Mal answered easily.

           "Wow, that's gonna be real conducive to a fun night," Trip replied sarcastically. "Knowin' you're just sittin' out in the hall or in the living room, twiddling your thumbs."

           "While _you_ are twiddling tentacles?" Mal asked smartly.

           Trip gave him a look. "The _point_ is, you had fun at the spa, didn't you?" Mal nodded slowly. "So, see? We can have fun separately sometimes. Sometimes," he emphasized quickly, seeing Mal's expression.

           Mal appeared to give it some thought. "No, I don't think so," he concluded with finality, laying his head back against Trip's leg. Trip rolled his eyes. He should have known trying to reason with Mal would be futile. "I'll come with you next time. You won't notice me when you don't want me around, but I'll be there in case you need me."

           Well, it was a nice thought anyway, Trip decided. "We've got one more night left of shore leave," he reminded Mal, changing the subject. "Any ideas about what you wanna do?"

           "We could go to a club," Mal offered generously.

           "I think I've had enough _cultural exchange_ for one shore leave, thanks," Trip declined dryly.

           "Okay, well in _that_ case," Mal continued excitedly, sitting up on his knees with his elbows resting on Trip's thighs, "the spa has this oceanic silt bath treatment..."

           "Last night I had sex with an octopus, tonight I'm gonna soak in a tub full of mud," Trip sighed. "And to think this actually ranks among my _better_ shore leaves."

           "We could stay in and watch a movie," Mal suggested. "And we could order some snacks from room service"—Trip winced at the idea of eating yet _more_ food that night, but he suspected Mal still had plenty of room left—"and I could give you a massage."

           "Oh, spend a couple days at the spa, suddenly you're an expert, huh?" Trip teased good-naturedly.

           "I asked the attendants all sorts of questions," Mal assured him eagerly. "I'm fairly certain I could do it without damaging anything."

           "Only _fairly_ certain? I don't like the sound of that..." But he had a feeling he would agree anyway.

 

            _Later_...

            "Alien ship approaching, Captain," T'Pol reported coolly from her station.

            "They're hailing us, Captain," Hoshi added.

            Archer nodded, perplexed. Trip turned around to face the main viewscreen, trying to remember exactly why he had come to the Bridge. Surely there was something he could be doing in Engineering instead.

            "This is Captain Jonathan Archer of the Earth ship _Enterprise_ ," he announced authoritatively. He was really getting quite good at that line, Trip thought.

            A humanoid face appeared on the screen, heavy brow, angry expression, light green skin flushed a darker green. Funny, he seemed vaguely familiar to Trip...

            " _I am Captain Fluff-Bucket of the Mars-Kegel-Novaks!_ " the man informed them, his tone distinctly peeved.

            "Okay," Archer agreed. "Can we be of some assistance to you?"

            " _Well I hope so!_ " the alien huffed. " _Do you have a crew member named Poopie-head?_ "

            "Uh—excuse me?" Archer blinked, looking sideways at Hoshi.

            "Translator problem," she whispered. "I'll repeat that bit."

            "— _a crew member named Trip?_ " the alien captain demanded.

            Huh. That explained why she kept giggling at his name, Trip thought. Wait—who was he thinking of?

            Archer was looking at Trip with that _What have you done now?_ expression. "Why do you ask?" he non-answered diplomatically.

            " _He needs to take responsibility for his reckless, dishonorable actions!_ " the alien shouted furiously.

            "I don't know what you're talking about," Archer tried valiantly, attempting to defend his friend.

            Captain Fluff-Bucket reached off-screen and dragged someone into the frame with him. Trip's eyes widened as he definitely recognized the new face. " _This is my beloved only daughter, Plush-Bucket_ ," he informed the Bridge crew with fatherly pride. Then he started glaring again. " _Your crewman took advantage of her innocent nature while on shore leave!_ "

            Archer turned helplessly to Trip, who had had enough of this abuse. The engineer stood nobly and strode to the center of the Bridge.         He drew himself up, stared straight into the eyes on the viewscreen, and declared, "Sir, I regret to be the one out of _many_ to inform you of this, but—her nature was _hardly_ innocent!"

            "Trip!" Archer hissed. "Enough of your cutting wit! Your dashing élan might be too much for these aliens!"

            " _Ooh, Trip!_ " Plush-Bucket cooed from the screen. She waved two hands and six tentacles at him happily.

            " _I demand that your crewman make an honest squid of my daughter_ ," Captain Fluff-Bucket continued. " _The marriage must take place immediately!_ "

            "Ha!" Trip tossed off stylishly. "I can't get married! I have a galaxy to explore!" He stood with his hands on his hips and his feet spread, looking off into the distance just like a daring 1920's aviator hero. Plush-Bucket sighed appreciatively.

            " _But then whatever will become of my grandson?_ " Captain Fluff-Bucket demanded, and Trip's posture fell.

            "Grandson?"

            Grinning delightedly, Plush-Bucket held an infant up to the viewscreen. It had Trip's head with little baby arms--and a mass of tentacles wriggling from beneath a 'Florida Marlins' onesie.

            " _I named him Poopie-head Bucket, Junior_ ," Plush-Bucket informed Trip cheerfully.

            " _Hiya, Pops!_ " the infant said in Trip's voice, waving two hands and six tentacles at him happily.

            Trip was very dizzy all of a sudden, reeling with shock. He turned pleadingly towards the Bridge crew, his gaze begging them to do something, anything at all to help him. Instead Marcus and Travis started laughing hysterically, bent double over their consoles; Hoshi glared disgust and fury at him; and Archer shook his head with immense disappointment. T'Pol's disdainful gaze could cut glass. "I guess Earth boys _are_ easy," she commented acidly.

_"Hiya, Pops!"_

_"I named him Poopie-head Bucket, Junior."_

_"I guess Earth boys_ are _easy."_

_"Hiya, Pops!"_

_"I named him Poopie-head Bucket, Junior."_

_"I guess Earth boys_ are _easy."_

_"Hiya, Pops!"_

_"I named him Poopie-head Bucket, Junior..."_

 

            "Nooooooooooooooooooooooo!"

            Trip sat up in bed panting, heart beating wildly, staring into the darkness at nothing. There was a movement in the bed beside him and Trip yelped, tumbling off the bed. He half-expected to see a couple of tentacles curl over the edge of the mattress. But it was only Mal.

            "How come _I_ wasn't in your dream?" was the first thing he deigned to say to Trip.

            "What?" the engineer gasped, trying to still his breathing and rub his now-sore backside.

            "Everyone else was in your dream," he pouted. "Except Dr. Phlox, I suppose."

            "G-d," sighed Trip, stiffly picking himself up off the floor. The doctor had cleared him when he got back to _Enterprise_ , managing to remain professional and even complimentary while Trip described exactly what his recreational activities had consisted of. But apparently Trip's subconscious wasn't willing to let go of this event just yet. He staggered into the bathroom to splash some water on his face.

            "I think that Plush-bucket lady was actually quite nice, on balance," Mal remarked from the other room. "I'm sorry I made fun of her later."

            Trip slunk back into the bedroom and threw himself onto the bed, forcing Mal to scramble out of his way. He rolled over onto his side and felt Mal cuddle up to him in his usual position, digging his cold nose into the back of Trip's neck a little more forcefully as punishment for trying to squash him. Maybe if Trip was lucky he could get the rest of his six hours of sleep— _without_ any more disturbing dreams.

            Mal wasn't quite ready for sleep, apparently. "What's a 'poopie-head'?" he inquired curiously.

            "Shut up," Trip advised.

            "Well, you don't have to get snippy," Mal huffed. "Lots of people have had sex with octopus ladies, you know." Trip turned to look at him incredulously over his shoulder. "Octopus men, for example," Mal added.

            "Go back to sleep!" Trip snapped.

            Quiet reigned for a moment. "Since you're Charles Tucker the Third, wouldn't the baby be Poopie-head Bucket the Fourth, instead of Junior?"

            "MAL—"

            "Okay, okay. Poor Trip, having bad dreams about the octopus lady..." Mal's tone took on a soothing quality that Trip found more conducive to sleep. "Don't worry, Trip, I would help you raise the little octopus-baby. I would teach it to slither and keep its little suction cups clean and not let it suck its tentacles and—"

           Groaning Trip ripped the pillow up and held it tightly over his own head. Dimly he thought he could hear Mal snickering.


End file.
